


Faith

by AyumiFallassion



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Affectionate Insults, America, Belarus - Freeform, Belarus/America, Biblical References, Comfort/Angst, Egypt, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/M, Gen, Germany, Germany is Holy Roman Empire, Historical Hetalia, Historical References, Israel needs a Hetalia character anyway, Italy, No Romance, OC, Sexy Times, Watch out for Chapter 3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 05:01:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3196280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AyumiFallassion/pseuds/AyumiFallassion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of peeks into the lives of the Nations, during times when Faith was needed to keep going, when the rest of the world but for maybe one, were against everything they stood for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: I know this is up on FF.net as well, but this way I can fix a few issues for a new audience.
> 
> Ok, you see? This is what happens when I watch very old movies, like the Ten Commandments. I get ideas!
> 
> I had to create one Nation, but it feels canon to me, so I hope you like him!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Egypt or that old Charleton Heston movie. I don't own the Bible either.
> 
> Beta'd by the ever so lovely Jackidy. Thank you so much!

_**And there shall be a Great Cry...** _

* * *

 

 

Egypt coughed violently as he leaned against a pillar, drawing strength from the cool stone. Blood flecked against his hand, but he steeled himself as he prepared to meet with his ruler, his Pharaoh. The young Nation was in the prime of his 'life,' looking to be no older than twenty-five, but the recent plagues and curses upon his lands had taken their toll.

And why wouldn't they? Gupta was Egypt in all the ways his rulers tried to be, and that was why he was suffering. Where the Pharaoh waved the frogs and flies and other plagues off as coincidences, Egypt's very skin mapped out the pain and suffering his lands and people were going through.

Blood felt like sludge in his veins; a side effect of the Nile and other bodies of water being turned into blood themselves. His hair, once shiny black and luxurious, was dry and uneven, entire sections missing and dying, like the fields of grains that had been destroyed. While they were fewer in number than that of his populace, the boils and open sores that littered his strong body burned with a fire that spoke of infections and deaths outside of the palace walls.

And now, the darkness that had covered the land for the past three days struck at Egypt's' eyes, leaving him all but blind as he wiped blood off of his lips. Only his knowledge of the layout of the palace allowed him to walk into the Pharaoh's Throne Room without stumbling, his cloak flowing out behind him in a river of gold and blue fabric. Even as he joined the priests, advisers and Generals, he could sense the remaining fields dying, the last of the grains that had survived the locusts and brimstone. Without the straw from the grain, the remaining cattle would begin to starve as well.

Seeing the weakened Nation, an adviser nodded before moving to the side, allowing him into the circle. The young man nodded gratefully as he joined them, stifling another cough.

In front of his dimmed eyes sat his Pharaoh, wrapped in his own cloak of gold and purple and blues like a sulking child before his veiled vision. Blinking, the Nation suddenly hissed in pain as the darkness lifted, flooding his eyes with light as his vision returned. Seconds later, a priest raced in, saying that the darkness was lifting outside. Eyes watering, Egypt rubbed at his amber eyes, trying to let them adjust to the light.

"That man promised that the darkness would last three days, and it is just now lifting! Our people cannot take much more of this! You must release the Hebrews," a priest of Horus insisted.

The Pharaoh scowled at his priests as he sat up. "And weaken this great land more than it is! You would have us destroy our way of life, our workforce out in the fields, our laborers for the temples and tombs!"

Egypt cut in at this point, pulling his shoulders back as he blinked away final tears of pain. "Releasing the slaves may be the only way to save Us now. The hardships We have endured will destroy Us if they are not put to a halt," he barked, only to cough again, blood flecking against the gold armlets around his wrists.

"And we can purchase more slaves from Rome if need be!" argued the General of the Calvary. Behind him, the Nation suddenly doubled over, gasping for breath between coughs and gags, a pair of priests flanking him, trying to help him stop his respiratory attack.

It's the sight of the struggling Nation that finally swayed the Pharaoh. As the young man finally straightened, he sighed as he reclined back. "Bring him before Us," he ordered, dismissing the priests and generals.

With a bow, Egypt slowly moved off, wrapping his cloak around himself to try and fight off the chills that ran though him from the phantom infections. He groaned in annoyance as his gold collar rubbed against a sore, re-opening it and smearing his blood under the gold. He ignored it though; it was only seeping, and wasn't anything to be worried about.

Now though, he was going to visit the dirty little secret of his rulers; one of the reasons the Hebrew were first enslaved, and the reason they allowed themselves to be enslaved. As he strode down into the dungeon area, he placed a hand on his hip pouch, feeling the few apples and pomegranate he had saved for his guest. He may not need to eat, but it was still enjoyable.

A pair of guards was standing in front of the door. Egypt frowned at the sight of them; they hadn't been there the last time he was down here. "Move aside, we have business with the prisoner," he ordered, glaring at the men balefully. Startled, they jumped to the side, allowing the Nation into the cell.

Looking up, the boy inside the cell gave the Nation a wan smile. "It's been a while, Gupta."

Egypt smiled at the younger Nation, even as he hissed as a new wound opened on the back of a calf, right above the gold anklet. Pulling the pomegranate out of the pouch, he tossed it to the youngster. Olive skin glowed in the fading sunlight, pouring in from the grated opening in the ceiling of the cave-cell. Black hair that should have been wavy was matted from poor hygiene, but dark eyes smiled up at him as he tore into the thick skin to the juicy fruit within. "The past few weeks have been, stressful, upon my lands and people," he offered, giving a short laugh as he sat down on an outcropping of rock, right across from the young Nation.

The younger Nation smiled mysteriously as he looked up at Egypt, pomegranate juice running down his chin to stain his already tattered blue pants. "I know, I have sensed the outcries of my people," he said, black eyes boring into the amber orbs of the older Nation. "It seems that the faith of my people has outclassed the beliefs of yours."

"Your people are fanatical about their 'God,'" Egypt argued weakly.

"You call it fanatical, we call it our way of life." The un-named Nation shook his head as he looked up at the weak sunlight through the grate. Night was coming on quickly. He looked back down at Gupta, "I'm sorry that you're lands are being so badly ravaged," he said, dark eyes sad as the other Nation tossed him an apple.

Egypt sighed as he leaned forward, resting his arms on his thighs, subtly holding his aching torso. The plagues had truly wrung him out, draining him of strength and vitality. "Well, hopefully it's over now. I know that my ruler is meeting with your prophet now."

The younger Nation shuddered suddenly, swallowing his mouthful of apple heavily. "I don't think so..." he muttered, a hand creeping up to clutch at his heart, as if it was in pain. "Sudden fear," he muttered before looking up at Egypt. "Something will happen tonight!"

The older Nation was already on his feet, passing the younger boy the rest of the fruit and a bread roll before marching out of the cell, ignoring the tightness in his lungs as he raced back up to the palace. Up near the throne room, he spotted one of the Generals, this the one for the city garrison, and he hailed him. "What has Our Pharaoh decided to do with the Hebrews?" he asked, falling into the royal we again.

The man shook his head before his country. "He plans to send out my men to kill all the slaves! All of the male children! Moses angered him somehow, and this is his answer," he offered.

Gritting his teeth, Egypt nodded his head once before storming off, heading into the throne room. The Pharaoh was still there, gazing out at the city, bathed in twilight as a gentle breeze blew.

"What is the meaning of this order to kill the Hebrews?" the young man barked, coming up right behind his ruler.

Dark eyes were like stony pieces of onyx as the older man continued to stare out into the city, focusing on the slaves quarters. "He threatened Our son," he said shortly.

"Was it a threat or a warning?"

"Either way, they shall not be a problem after tonight." He finally turned to the Nation, smirking. "If you care for your fellow Nation, I would spend the night with him, because the Hebrews will not be in Our land after this night." Chuckling darkly, the man turned and walked out, ignoring the stunned Egypt.

~~~...~~~...~~~...~~~

"So, he plans to kill my people?"

"I'm so sorry, there's nothing I can do. The Generals will not listen to me. Many of them have been wanting to attack your people for years now!"

"No, I'm the one who should be sorry."

"What? Why little one?"

"Because it will be midnight soon. My people have been sacrificing lambs from their flocks, and painting the blood on the post and lintels of their doors. Moshe is going to call down one final plague, one that will smite all the first-born of Egypt."

"No..."

"When it sees the blood upon the doors of my people, it will pass over them, but your people will have no such protection."

"...How much longer do we have?"

The young Nation sighed as he peered up, looking through the grate on the ceiling, eyes glowing from a sudden mysterious light. "It has begun."

Almost immediately, Egypt gasped as the cold shot up his spine, shivering violently as he curled up onto himself. His eyes rolled up in the back of his head as he collapsed onto the rocky floor, flinching hard with the death of every soul. No longer was he Egypt, but all of the population out in the city. He was every mother, screaming in pain as they wake up to find their first born dead. He was the father crying out to find that their wives were still besides them, every child waking up to the cool bodies of their siblings. He was ignorant of his body convulsing on the ground, his head dancing on the rocks. He didn't know that the un-named Nation clutching him, trying to keep him from bashing his head upon the dusty ground.

All he was aware of was one fine burst of pain coming from the palace before Gupta finally blacked out.

~~~...~~~...~~~...~~~

It was the creaking of the door that awoke the two Nations the next morning. Wary, the two sat up from the ground where they had fallen asleep, Egypt groaning in pain from his convulsions.

The man in the door was obviously not Egyptian. Tall with sun-baked skin and wild, gray-shot hair, the man could be nothing other than a Hebrew. Immediately, Egypt recognized him as Moshe, the man who was to lead the slaves out into their Promised Land, where the un-named Nation would take up the mantle of a True Country. Smiling sadly, Egypt nodded respectfully to the man as he struggled to his feet, the little Nation standing at his side.

"I am sorry that you had to go through that pain in order for our people to be freed," the man offered.

Egypt shook his head, wiping the blood from his eyes, tracing it back up to locate a large gash on his scalp. "My ruler was always a stubborn man," he said before patting the young Nation on the shoulder. "He's here to take you to your people little one."

"Will I ever see you again?"

"Maybe, in time little one. No," he shook his head as he kneeled in front of the Nation. "Little one no longer. You will need a strong name to use while you lead your people. Judah. I give to you the name of Judah, with my blessings."

Sniffling, the newly named Judah flung himself onto Gupta, giving him one last hug before following after Moshe. Turning back, the boy Nation smiled. "May God's protection be upon you."


	2. Faith in Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, totally becoming a series.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: More issues fixed!
> 
> I think this might become a series. If anyone can give me ideas as to when in history any Nation would have needed faith in anything to survive, that would be good. I have a few ideas, but history is far from my strength, English is.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Hetalia rox, so hard core though!
> 
> Beta: The lovely Jackidy, once again. Thanks Luv!

 

 

 

**Faith in Friends**

 

* * *

 

_Ein Feind ist unserer, und einer allein,_

_Schon Meißelt er Deutschlands Grabsstein_

_Voll Hass Sein Busen, Voll Neid und voll Pein,_

_Ein Feind ist unserer, und einer allein._

_Nun Hebt der Frevler die Meachelnde Hand_

_Sein Name, du kennst ihn, ist England._

_...~...~...~...  
_

_We have one and only enemy,_

_who digs the grave of Germany,_

_Its heart replete with hatred, gall and envy,_

_we have one and only enemy._

_The villain raises his murderous hand_

_his name, you know it, is England._

* * *

 

Germany groaned as he collapsed on his cot, pulling his jacket off carefully as he leaned against the railing. He was alone for the first time all night, Italy and Japan having retired to their tents and armies for once.

Every joint hurt. Even the ones in his fingers, and it made leading his armies a painful task. His spine was the worse, and whenever Italy jumped on him, it was a battle of wills to stay on his feet, let alone upright. He knew this pain was from two sources: the loss of his troops and the forced breeding back in the homeland. His leader thought he was making Germany stronger with a race of blue-eyed blondes, reflections of Germany's ancestor Germania, but he knew that the thinned blood-lines were weakening his people.

The Nation groaned as he arched his back like a large cat, wincing as a wound pinched. Gritting his teeth, he pulled his shirt off, stifling a groan as it pulled on the scabbing wound. He sighed as he examined the back of the shirt; the wound was still seeping, a mixture of blood and pus. The blonde hissed as he ran a hand over the wound. Auschwitz may be on Polish land, but it was under German control, so the atrocities were reflected over his shoulder blades.

As were the other death and concentration camps. A slowly healing scar on his collarbone where Plaszow was; slashes over his spine and ribs where Ponary, Babi Yar, and the other massacres had taken place. Even the ghettos were represented as deep bruises over his lower back and stomach, for the masses of humanity in areas like Krakow and Warsaw.

He didn't approve of the camps; he thought they were a horrible idea. But out here on the front lines, fighting with England, America, Russia and the others, there was nothing that he could do to stop them.

The blonde Nation groaned deeply as he stretched his arm for the first aid kit. It was a pain to dress back wounds by his self, but he had done it before, and his pride kept him from asking the other members of his medical tent to help him out. He gritted his teeth as he pulled out a bottle of rubbing alcohol, anticipating the burning as he doused the wound on his shoulder blade. A strangled cry tried to force itself pasted his lips, but the proud Kraut only groaned as the burning subsided.

"Germany! Germany~! I made us some dinn-" Italy stopped as he barged into the tent, surprised at the sight of Germany's back. The little red head may not be the smartest of countries; in fact he was considered one of the dumbest. But even he was far older than Germany, and he recognized the signs of calamities on a Nation. Seeing the smaller Nation, Germany locked his jaw as he turned away, refusing to accept any pity from the weaker man.

Only to flinch as a small hand gently touched his shoulder. "Pass me the bandages," the Italian asked softly. "I'll fix your back for you."

"It'll just re-open by the morning."

"But it'll be more comfy for you Germany." Although weaker, the little _Dago_ could be just as stubborn as the taller Nation. Germany simply sighed as the first bandage went over the seeping wound on his shoulder. Even if the gash re-opened again, the band of cloth was putting enough pressure on the wound to support his shoulder.

The _Hun_ was surprised at how deft of a hand the Roman descendant had with first aid. But then again, with how often he got beaten up by the other Nations, he figured that he must have had a lot of practice patching his self up. As it was, his chest was covered in a bandage from the recent attack and capture of Trier. In a matter of moments, the wounds he couldn't reach were cleaned, dried and bandaged before the young man helped Germany into an open dress shirt.

"How much longer do we need to keep fighting?" It was the soft plea of a child in a familiar tone that made Italy blink as he looked at the back of that blond head. It was familiar, as if he had watched it walking away from him before, some time in the past…

"We're losing. The Allies are getting ready to finish us off, and the SS are already abandoning their posts. Japan may have a few more months, but without us, his days are numbered as well. I don't know what the others are going to do to me this time…"

Blue eyes were closed as the taller country tried to calm his racing heart. He flinched as the smaller man threw his arms around his neck, being careful not to press against the bandaged wounds. His adam's apple bobbed as the Kraut swallowed, trembling from exhaustion and stress as he allowed the smaller Nation to hug him, soaking in the warmth.

"No matter what happens. The war could end tomorrow, they could order our countries disbanded, they could have us locked up, it doesn't matter. I'll be your friend. You're the first true friend I've ever had, and I'm going to stick by you." The little _Makaronifresser_ , as Germany 'affectionately' called him at times, sighed as he rested his forehead on the back of Germany's head, eyes closed as he hugged his friend.

He blinked a second later as the man leaned back against him, exhaustion having taken its toll. Clean and comfortable for the first time in weeks, the Nation had simple keeled over, fast asleep in the embrace of his ally. Italy could only smile as he eased Germany down unto the cot, pulling the sheets over him. Standing, he grabbed the food he was going to share with the Hun, planning to pass it out to his own troops. Before leaving, he smiled back at the other Nation, who had unconsciously snuggled deeper into the thin sheets. "I promise. I won't let anyone take you like they did Grandpa Rome."

And with a rustling of canvas, the tent lap closed as the Italian left, letting Germany bathe in the darkness, praying and dreaming, for a miracle.

 


	3. 1990

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The swaying of minds is difficult enough, especially if the person is a woman. But can Belarus be convinced to look to her people instead of to Russia for once?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: Figured this goes well with this series.
> 
> Inspired by a bit of role-playing a month ago between me and a friend. This is dedicated to you, Gaamari-chan!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, or anything else mentioned within the fic. I know the band mentioned is not from the 90's but I thought it was good for the purpose of the fic. It suits both of the characters.

**1990**

* * *

She had always loved the feel of leather, of how it warmed under her touch as if it was a living thing. Or against her skin like right now, as her partner ran gloved hands over her throat and leg. Her head tilted back as long fingers caressed her throat, wrapping around her neck in a vague threat that made her shudder. She shivered again as warm lips breathe against her ear, a soft pant as he pulled her more securely in his lap, hand sliding higher up her thigh. The hilt of a knife brushed against those questing fingers, and before she could protest, it was pulled away and set aside.

The radio was playing a soft song in the background, and her companion chuckled against her, recognizing the band as Nightwish. The caresses slowed till they were in time with the song, a slow seduction that played with her nerves as she arched back against him. "You know he will never care like you want him to. He'll never want you like I do," he whispered, lips brushing against her neck in a kiss, light as a feather against pale skin.

She refused to answer. Even now, as warm hands drifted closer to her hips, she remained loyal to her brother. Her stubbornness only earned her a sharp nip to the shoulder as talented fingers worked the buttons at the back of her dress. Pale skin was caressed with lips and fingertips as the blue fabric was slowly pushed down. A leather coat, worn but carefully patched over the years, was quickly added to the desk next to them. A tie was thrown over next by own who couldn't wait to get rid of the choking hazard.

She rotated in his lap before he could grab her hips again. Her lips sealed his, silencing his protests. Nips and licks reigned between them even as her arms were slipped from her dress sleeves, the top of the fabric released as he pulled on the ribbon around her neck. The satiny fabric pooled through strong hands, settling between the two of them.

They broke for air. Sharp blue eyes, the color of a Virginia sky, took in the sight of the strong Soviet. Russia's Union was falling, held off only by the resources taken from his sisters and few remaining allies. He couldn't call her skeletal, but the young woman was much thinner than a human doctor would call healthy, thinner than she'd been the last time he'd seen her.

He didn't pull away. Warm leather and warmer lips caressed her, drawing over sharp collarbones and visible ribs. The soft sounds over his head encouraged his efforts. The Soviet was as volatile as her brother, and he always kept an eye on her mood.

A gentle push had her recline back against the bed, propped up on her elbows as her partner shrugged out of his white dress shirt. He'd gotten a little tired of replacing them every time he came to see the young woman. A shift of her hips, and the dress was off, a pool of blue fabric on the floor, leaving her in just a creamy white bra and a garter.

"You could break away from him," he offered, hands caressing her chest and sides, running over sensitive skin. "Or you could join with me." The Soviet glared at him through the haze of pleasure, panting softly. The younger Nation grinned as he kissed her face, drifting over sharp cheekbones and a delicately pointed nose. "You know me. I may change a few things, but you know I won't oppress your people or force you to send me all of your resources. Freedom is too important to my country to do that," he offered, swallowing as he leaned forward, their hips brushing against each other's.

A sudden flurry of motion, and the younger Nation groaned as his head banged off the headboard, suddenly finding himself on his back. The momentary daze was the five seconds the young woman needed to use his own tie to fasten his hands to the bedposts.

Reality snapped back at the cold touch of a second knife that had been in her bra as it tickled his cheek. "You forget yourself America," she offered silkily, drawing the deadly blade over his cheeks, lips, and nose. It drifted down over his chin to trace over the veins in his neck. Despite himself, the man swallowed, bucking his hips slightly against the weight of the woman in his lap. "You forget my loyalty to my brother lies beyond my wish for his hand. I would allow my country to fall if it meant he would survive."

America shuddered under her deadly touch even as the throwing knife played over the muscles in his chest. Belarus smirked as she played with a nipple before traveling downwards again. "You offer every time, and every time I refuse. Why?"

The younger Nation swallowed a pant as the Soviet traveled towards his lap, delicately slicing through the button of his pants. "I guess, after all this time," he offered as she sliced through his khakis, "I'd hoped that you'd learned to like me enough to listen."

Belarus laughed as she threw the shredded remains of his uniform to the side. Her movements became slow and languid as she ran long fingers over her flat stomach and chest. A flick of the blade, and her bra fell open, cut at the front. America shifted under her again. She may not be as large as her sister, but she was still impressive. "I do like you," she smirked. "Otherwise, I would not be here." The knife drifted down to her garter now. "It I did not trust you, I would be gone in a heart's beat."

"Then why don't you listen to me?" he groaned as sharp blade's kiss slid between garter and skin, parting the lacy fabric with a touch of pressure. He licked his lips at the sight of the proud woman above him in all her glory, and started to pull at his tie.

She smirked as she leaned over, knife forgotten as her hands splayed over his muscular chest as her face hovered over his. "If a time comes when I must leave my brother, it will be on my own terms, and not yours," she whispered, shifting her hips to lift and sit and moan at warm that filled and stretched. Lips connected frantically as hips bucked upwards, a groan vibrating in America's chest. The world shrank to only them, to sound and movement and sensation. Nips and kisses and rhythm. A rip; America ignored the scrap of silk around his wrist as he grabbed her hips. Belarus's head fell back with a moan as leather-clad hands took over, setting a faster pace as sensation and warmth and pleasure built higher and higher and tighter until tipping over with a scream.

She sighed a few minutes later, draped over the younger Nation, her head resting on his chest. One gloved hand was lazily stroking her shoulder, while the other was carding through her hair. She shivered in delight every time he brushed her ribbon; it was her secret area, like Austria's beauty mark or the Italy Brother's curls. She shivered slightly one last time as he stopped, before propping herself up on her elbows. "You are too good to me," she offered. "To everyone. It will get your country in trouble one of these days."

A grin as he shifted up onto his own elbows. He had always loved her accent, the way she trill-rolled her Rs. "That may be so, but I'd rather be friendly to the rest of the world then go back to isolationalism." He planted a kiss, long and sensual, before giving her a final smile. "Eventually, Russia is going to collapse. All I ask, is that you use the common sense God gave you, and look to your people. And either way," one final kiss, "I will be there to help you stand on your own two feet."

 


End file.
